I’ve been listening to Black Sabbath and Ozzy nonstop since Tuesday.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Sabbath and Ozzy were essential to my personal development as a free-thinking individual. While the world eagerly swallowed every bit of teen pop and boy band slop the major music labels excreted like swine at the trough, I found solace in the dark, heavy guitar riff-driven sounds of a band from Birmingham, England, formed decades prior.

Sabbath was the first band I ever came to love completely on my own, without any influence from my family or friends. They were one of two bands whose song tabs I printed out and obsessively practiced, as if learning to hammer out “Children of the Grave,” “War Pigs,” and “Snowblind” on my Ibanez RG was a matter of life and death.

I collected bootleg videos, scoured every rare track Napster had to offer, and many years later, I finally got to see the band live in Las Vegas on September 17, 2016, as part of their The End tour. Flying high on a mix of booze, rock n’ roll, and a gummy of unknown origin, that show remains one of the best damn experiences of my life.

RIP, Prince of Darkness. Thank you so much for everything.